The Buzzer
by akaeve
Summary: A story written for the last word challenge on NFA. Pre-NCIS, Gibbs saves Callen's life in Moscow. Idea from someone mentioning the "Numbers Stations"
1. Chapter 1

_I went on my way. A stormy wind rattled the scrap-iron in the ruins, whistling and howling through the charred cavities of the windows. Twilight came on. Snow fell from the darkening, leaden sky. Pulling up the collar of my jacket, I made my way back to Steph, it was the least I could do, but I knew we would not be together much longer._

 **13 months earlier**

Gibbs had been called to the Director's office. The Director looked at the Agent, Gibbs the maverick, three times married, twice divorced. This was going to be hard, but the man was good, he hoped it wasn't going to lead to a third divorce. His new bride Stephanie, but he arranged a job for her in the Embassy, but it was Gibbs who had the credentials.

"Gibbs, I have an assignment for you. You are the best we have. You are fluent in Russian, and I know you and another NCIS agent, by the name of Callen, have worked together."

"Sir, we didn't work together, I saved his butt in Serbia, when Agent Shepard and I were there."

"OK, but the CIA have asked, if you and Callen could possibly be included in an undercover operation."

"Sir, I just got married, you think my wife is gonna take kindly to this?"

"I really have no-one else who is capable, but I have a job lined up for your wife."

"How long we talking about?" Gibbs ventured.

"6months to a year," the Director replied.

"No way, Director."

"Agent Gibbs, you have the credentials, as well as the poker face….and may I remind you of Paris. She's still at large. You know who I mean, Svetlana."

Gibbs thought back to Paris and how he had been arrested. Jen, she just wasn't capable or upto finishing the job.

-oOo-

"Gibbs, it's Moscow, it's cold and Red," Stephanie had shouted.

"Steph, you knew when you married me it was like this, you knew my last assignment…"

"France, bloody France, Paris, and you got arrested, Ducky told me," she had shouted, "And who were you with, oh yes Junior Agent Jennifer Shepard…." she continued to shout but pointing an accusing finger at Gibbs.

"Steph, I can back and married you, it was purely professional between us. Steph, I need to go and finish the job, Jenny…" seeing the look in his new wife's eye, "Jennifer didn't."

"And you think you can?"

"No I don't, but the CIA and the Director think I can. And before you ask, there is a job with the Embassy for you."

"Great, and my boss is just going to let me have time off?"

"Yes Steph, a year to be precise."

Gibbs looked at the shock look on his wife's face; this was not going to be an easy assignment.

 **Moscow sometime 1999**

The Agencies had got together and given them an apartment in the Embassy; it was convenient for Steph and gave Gibbs time to acclimatise, so to speak.

"And this is what is called sleeping on the job?" as Steph looked about the apartment, "Bedsit springs to mind."

"It's a studio, just appreciate its better than I will get."

The 1st month was mostly briefings for Gibbs. Get Svetlana. Oh, and there was a slight subject of Russian Numbers Stations.

"Just one?" Gibbs had said.

"No, actually two or three, but the main one is, UVB-76," a big wig replied.

"It is known as the Buzzer. Have you heard of it?" big wig two asked.

"I'm NCIS, Marines, not some Military Spy, expand."

"Quite, UVB-76, a shortwave military transmitter sends or should I say transmits a "Buzz" 25 pulses a day 24/7, on 4625 kHz, hence the name "Buzzer," big wig one answered.

"The location and call sign were unknown to us until the first known voice broadcast in December 24th 1997, it read "УЗБ-76 180 08 БРОМАЛ 74 27 99 14," big wig two continued. Gibbs eyed them suspiciously.

"This is UVB-76, 18008 BROMAL 74 27 99 14," Gibbs translated.

"Quite, but BROMAL was spelt out phonetically, Boris, Roman, Olga, Mikhail, Anna, Larisa, it has the same international meaning, that being a chemical."

"Could be a randomly selected codeword," Gibbs offered.

"Quite," big wig one replied again. As Gibbs wished he would stop saying "quite".

"I have to ask you do know where it is?" he ventured this time.

"Oh yes, at 56°5′0″N 37°6′37″E which is about halfway between Zelenograd and Solnechnogorsk and about 40miles northwest of here somewhere near the village of Lozhki," big wig two responded, looking at his notes.

"Accommodation Sir? And what was it with Callen?"

"Callen, the other NCIS guy, he's somewhere around, either here or there or they shipped him out yesterday."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 October 1999**

And that was what I was told. I was to spend time undercover, as an ear, a rabochiy ili chernorabochiy, a manual worker, a labourer, in the Sitronics Company in Zelenograd. Sitronics had been founded in 1997 as a microelectronics company, and it would go on, later in the 21st century to produce nano-SIM cards for one of Russia's three big mobile phone operators. But even if the cold war was over, there was still iciness in the air, in relations, there was always the need for a spy.

-oOo-

What I got was a room. Nothing basic about it, a room, a fridge, why a fridge it was winter. An electric cooker, if you could call it a cooker, it was a two metal hot plates. The eating area? A fold away table and two chairs. I laughed inwardly, two chairs, who was I gonna entertain or interrogate? I looked at the sleeping arrangement. It would be years later before I would say the words to an Agent, "It's a convertible sofa. I slept on one for seven months." I hated to see the bathroom, as I opened a door or was it a cupboard off the main room, main room? Only room. Yep a shower, a toilet and hand basin…..basic as I said and I had the winter to contend with, six months of hell. I looked for a heater; I found a two bar electric fire which had seen better days.

As I was contemplating whether to live out my rucksack or to place what I had in it, in what as I looked about, could pass for a chest of drawers, there was a knock at the door. It took me all my brains not to question in English, yes who is it, "Da, kto eto?"I shouted.

"Petrov Aleksandr."

I thought yep, Callen, it was the name he had used in Serbia. I opened the door, and he walked in, took one look at it and laughed.

"This is a palace compared to mine," he offered in Russian, "My room-mate has the habit of belching, and stinks of vodka."

"I got the fold down, but what can I do for you?" I replied.

"Since it's your first shift at 18.00 thought you could do with a celebratory drink, if not a rite of passage, then at least to toughen you up against the elements and the noise and the heat. Anyway you need to meet your shift crew."

I locked up, I don't know why, the door was almost hanging off, one foot or shoulder and it would be off its hinges, but I had to.

"We on the same crew?" I asked Callen as I pulled my ex-military parka hood over my ears.

"Actually no, I got the morning shift. It works 12 on, 12 off, bars' open 24/7. On the 7th you get a day or night to recover and then we switch. Most workers go into Zelenograd or Solnechnogorsk. The factory runs a bus there and usually an ambulance or Police car back," as Callen looked at me and laughed, before looking at a figure coming towards us.

"Khorosho Sergi sdvig," good shift Sergi, Callen enquired.

"Net boss razdrazhen , my troye rabochikh vniz," No the boss is annoyed, we are three workers down.

"Eto Vladimir, on nachinayet segodnya , khochu vypit' s nami ?" This is Vladamir, he starts tonight want have a drink with us?

"Net," as the man walked on.

"Not much talk in the bars, the place to be is Solnechnogorsk, and there is a village called Lozhki, it has a brothel."

"You know this?" I asked.

"I listen…not my scene, but the Military come here often and they drink here, and in Solnechnogorsk, but Lozhki is the place, and they mention Povarovo," Callen concluded, as they reached a shack. The smell of stale beer and Russian cigarettes hit you before you actually opened the door. As I stood looking at the bar, the door opened and a body landed at my feet. The man looked at my shoes, before standing and wiping a bloody hand, across an equally bloody face, and then spat blood and what looked like a tooth on the ground.

I thought for one moment I was next, but he staggered away.

"That is the guy next door to me. Welcome to the "Gulag," Callen replied as he climbed the steps to the bar.


	3. Chapter 3

**March 2000**

I was back in Moscow, my undercover stint not quite over, but, I was at least away from Zelenograd and Lozhki. If Callen and I were to finish what we started, then we were to be moved back. We were again given manual labouring jobs, but this time within the Moscow cleansing department, looking after the cleansing vehicles which toured the streets, and of course pick up refuse from building sites. Our accommodation palatial compared to the factory, a room in a workers tower block. My six months had been interesting. There had been a military numbers station near Lozhki, and rumour had it that the one at Povarovo still operated. I hadn't contacted Stephanie on my return, she wasn't to know.

We had in fact managed to pass on information about various number stations, but there was one actually in Moscow, and we needed to take it out if we could, but it was how. Callen had said he would be able to do…..with some C-4.

"And where are you going to get C-4," I asked.

"Always some…..kicking about on building sites."

"I know that, but ….."

"But what? It does not explode when dropped, set on fire, shot at, or exposed to microwaves," Callen replied smiling, as he pulled from his pocket what looked like a lump of dirty white putty, but it was the smell of motor oil.

"You been carrying that about with you all the time?" I shouted, "In this room, where I'm sleeping."

"Yep…and before you ask, that guy next door, remember him? Would do anything for a few roubles and a vodka."

"Jesus," I whispered, "And now the detonator, don't tell me it's in the room too?"

"Yep."

"And there was me thinking that the smell of motor oil was because you were tinkering with the vehicles."

"Yep, got to keep up a front," Callen laughed.

And this was how Callen had got the explosive.

-oOo-

It was one wet Wednesday, and we had been watching the house for days. The garbage was collected from the back of the building, off a communal lane. It was easy for us to observe, but then again it was easy for operatives to come and go. Intelligence gave us a layout of the house.

I was never one for breaking and entering, a key or a piece of wire and I was set. How Callen had managed to acquire a detonator, I had no idea, just ask no questions you get no lies, but we had reliable information from the CIA, that the building, I was breaking into was a transmitting station.

So issued with the information, we made our way to the house. Intelligence told us that it was manned at all time, but there was only one person there between 14.00 and 16.00, so in essence the afternoon was quiet, members of the house working elsewhere, or spying on the American Embassy. Intelligence told us that the back of the building was the easiest way in, so dressed in our Muscovite Municipal Workers refuse uniforms, we began our job.

I carefully picked the lock and let Callen in, I was to act as lookout. There wasn't a lot I could do if Callen had been caught, but it was a risk we had to take.

I made my way to the end of the lane; I could see the front door. I noticed the black limo slowly pass down the street before it turned and drove back. I ran to the back door and thought of entering the building to locate Callen, but he was just coming out.

"You done?" I whispered, "As we got company."

"Two minutes, I just need to wire the buzzer, but thanks for the nod," as he turned and went back in. I prayed he was going to make it, as on reaching the side of the building and the road, I saw a dark suited man alight from the limo.

I watched as he walked up to the door and pressed the "buzzer", it was at that point the windows lit up orange, and then exploded out, the door fell on top of the visitor killing him.

I may have saved Callen's life again, then again maybe I didn't, but I had a strange gut feeling, the body I saw lying on the floor beside the radio transmitter was not him, and I was sure that a figure was silhouetted dark, against the flames, running.

-oOo-

Next evening, dressed in civvies, I made my way back to the house, and looked at the building. Callen had not returned to the apartment, I sighed and turning, I went on my way.

A stormy wind rattled the scrap-iron in the ruins, whistling and howling through the charred cavities of the windows. Twilight came on. Snow fell from the darkening, leaden sky. Pulling up the collar of my jacket, I made my way back to Steph, it was the least I could do, but I knew we would not be together much longer.

 **Epilogue**

In 2011 a group of urban explorers explored the abandoned buildings at Povarovo. They claimed that it was an abandoned military base. A radio log record was found, confirming the operation of a transmitter at 4625 kHz.

 **The End**

. .


End file.
